


Its software, its hardware, its heartbeat, its time-share,

by Kt_fairy



Series: The brighter sun and the easier lays [7]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Body Image, Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Rimming, Smoking, Weight Issues, body issues, implied excessive drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-11 17:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18428399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: Roger had paid enough attention in his Biology lectures to know that his little tummy was healthy, and that was more important than any stick thin rock star aesthetic. Besides, he was adored by girls and was riding high on success and the exhilarating first flush of falling unexpectedly hard for someone. He didn’t have the time to be self-conscious.Even turning thirty had come and gone without the traditional panic. He was rich and successful and beautiful, and had John. He was no top of the world! He felt like nothing could touch him.That kind of hubris, Freddie had sagely warned over a five am game of scrabble, was what always came before a fall.





	Its software, its hardware, its heartbeat, its time-share,

**Author's Note:**

> Hazydays, this is on you.
> 
> See Notes At The End For Food Related Warning.
> 
>  
> 
> I have a writing blog now. Hit me up [here](https://pianowrites.tumblr.com/) if you want. Do you.

 

 

 

**-1984**

 

 

“...and then there was this giant...I don’t know how you’d describe it…”

 

“Thing?”

 

“Very helpful.”

 

“Is it, or is it not, a thing?”

 

 John raised an eyebrow, “I dunno, is it?”

 

“What -” Roger tipped his head back and laughed. “What does that _mean?”_

 

“Dick joke, obviously,” John said as he took a drag on Roger’s cigarette, glancing around when Freddie did a particularly loud scale run. “ _Ya thingie.”_

 

_"_ My thingie and your whatsit.”

 

“How dare you talk about my...oh, hello.” John was all polite smiles when one of the journalists sidled up to them. He dropped down on to the lower step of the riser so she could see Roger a little better, but she wasn’t interested in him.

 

 Sound check had descended into Freddie and Brian doing what they wanted, so John didn’t have much of an excuse when she asked him for a small interview. He lead her away from the risers so Roger could get on with tuning the drums and making an (immaculate, even if he did say so himself) racket.

 

 He ran through most of his _Keep Yourself Alive_ solo as he’d always found that the most satisfying piece to play, before spinning off into mucking about on the cymbals to entertain himself.

 

“Someone hasn’t heard the rumours,” Crystal muttered from behind him.

 

“Oh, do tell. Which one of us is having a wild affair with Debbie Harry or stormed off to form our own band this week?”

 

“No you idiot. That bird is making eyes at Deaky.”

 

 Roger paused in his composition of the finest cowbell solo in history to shoot Crystal a look, and then over to where John was leaning against the piano being interviewed.

 

 The lingering tan from a summer spent in the Spain really brought out his eyes and accentuated the curve of lithe muscle he’d built up on his arms. John's hair wasn’t as ridiculous when he hadn’t fluffed it up for gigs or appearances, and when he tucked the curls behind his ears, like he had now, it showed off the perfectly straight line of his cheekbones. Roger knew he was a broken record but, well - fuck you. John _did_ look good. And, it seemed, Senorita Orlandi had noticed it too.

 

 She wasn’t overdoing it like some people did when they were trying to bag a rock star, she was just making it clear that she liked what she saw. Roger didn’t blame her, in fact he was always a little flattered whenever someone tried to get into John’s trousers. People should want to chat him up, he was a catch!

 

“I’m going to burn with jealousy for the rest of the day,” Roger deadpanned as the fiddled with one of the keys to tighten his snare drum a little.

 

“I’ll be batting them off him," Crystal muttered. "And here’s me thinking that I was done with all that now you’re middle aged.”

 

“Fuck you, I’m thirty-five! You’re fucking fired!”

 

“Yeah, okay. Sure,” Crystal drawled, not even pretending to pay attention as he checked something on a clipboard.

 

 Roger huffed and looked down to whack his floor tom in protest. And then wished he hadn’t.

 

 He returned his attention to John who was as loose-limbed as ever, then to Freddie who was in his broad, muscular prime, and finally spared a glance at Brian who was...still a stick insect.

 

 Roger plucked at the front of his shirt, trying to make it as baggy as possible to hide his stomach, and was glad he had a whole drum kit to hide himself behind.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger had always been the least skinny (read: a healthy weight) of the four of them. Drumming put on muscle and engaged his core strength, and he had to actually eat to have enough energy to play; not just live off coffee and baked beans like the other three used to.

 

 How none of them had gotten scurvy in those early days was honestly beyond him.

 

 He had paid enough attention in his Biology lectures to know that his little tummy was healthy, and that was more important than any stick thin rock star aesthetic. Besides, he was adored by girls and was riding high on success and the exhilarating first flush of falling unexpectedly hard for someone. All while worrying about Brian’s kidneys giving out he was so fucking thin. He didn’t have the time to be self-conscious.

 

 Even turning thirty had come and gone without the traditional panic. He was rich and successful and beautiful, and had _John_. He was no top of the world! Nothing could touch him!

 

 Such hubris, Freddie had sagely warned over a five am game of scrabble, was what always came before a fall.

 

 Five years later Roger had reached heights he had never even thought possible, and so, so many things touched him now; Munich had happened, exposing every single crack in a band that he had thought was unbreakable. Cracks that hadn't closed up while touring or recording or touring again. Brian and John weren't friends like they once were, Freddie wasn't as _involved_ as usual, and, through the haze of jet lag and hangovers that came with touring, Roger had noticed the double vodkas John was having to down just to get on stage in front of these heaving crowds.

 

 His own crack's were showing in the last, wheezing half an hour of gigs as his seventeen year long habit of smoking ten Marlboro Red’s a day finally made its presence felt. And, just to top off the whole wheezing, sweaty, gross drummer look he had going on, his little tummy, that had stopped going down as quickly after a big meal ages ago, one day just didn’t go down at all.

 

 Logically there was no point making a big deal out of it, Roger knew that. You ate too late at night and drunk too much and didn’t get nearly enough sleep when on tour or in the studio. It wasn’t like he was becoming unfit, his drumming remained unaffected despite his wheezing. It didn’t matter. Bodies changed with age. John still wanted to fuck him and girls still tried to flash him, so it was fine.

 

 And yet sometimes…

 

 Sometimes, like this morning, he caught a glimpse of himself after coming out of the shower, towel around his hips and body not what it once was, and couldn’t bare to look.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger snatched his feet back before the splash of water could hit them. He shot a glare over his sunglasses at Brian who was paying no attention to him, the young lady he had jumped into the pool with having caught all his attention. Which was understandable - her Bikini was held in place by willpower alone it seemed - but even so, she wasn’t more important than your band mates feet!

 

 She laughed a bit too enthusiastically as Brian splashed her, obvious playing it up. Not that Brian cared, he wasn’t keeping her around for any genuine, soul deep connection he was always going on about.

 

 Roger huffed, going to turn back to his book when the next splash caught Joe Fanelli, who was sat on the side of the pool with Freddie, in the face.

 

“Oi! Take your foreplay to the _other end of the fucking pool_!” Freddie yelled, waving his cigarette around like a sceptre.

 

“Sorry Joe,” Brian called as he paddled backwards, arm around the woman’s waist to take her with him.

 

“We have a gig tonight! I don’t know _where_ he gets the energy from,” Freddie muttered, tipping his head back to look up at John when he handed him a glass of wine. “Oh darling you are a lifesaver! Did you see how Brian _viciously_ splashed Joe and myself?”

 

“I did,” John smiled so sweetly as he handed Joe his drink that Roger had to stick his nose back into his book.

 

 He let the sound of chatter and Freddie’s laughter, and what was Brian probably engaging in some heavy petting, wash over him as he got back into the chapter. He wasn’t usually a read by the pool kind of guy, far too much wet fun was to be had to risk the safety of a book, but today he was feeling self-conscious and mopey. Which was why he was curled up under an umbrella in shorts and a t-shirt and _not_ currently in the pool harassing Brian.

 

 At least, he supposed when the lounger creaked under John’s added weight, he was trying to distract himself and not just hiding in their suite letting himself become miserable.

 

“I got you a beer,” John said as he pressed the ice cold bottle to Roger’s arm.

 

 Roger poked his tongue out at him, laying his book face down on his stomach when he snatched it playfully off him. “Rude.”

 

“You’re welcome,” John said as he sipped his drink. “You’re not getting swift and terrible vengeance on Brian?”

 

“No…” Roger ran his fingers through the condensation on his beer bottle. “Best served cold and all that.”

 

 John hummed in reply, squinting against the glare of the pool as he watched Ratty and Crystal slip into the pool with three other girls. “That water is going to be disgusting by the after party.”

 

 This was usually were Roger would say something along the lines of, ‘ _as if we haven't messed up plenty of pools’_ , but being flirty was slightly beyond him right now. He took refuge in his beer, John doing a very good job of pretending not to notice the silence hanging in the air between them.

 

 He should just tell him how he was feeling. John would be sensible about it and reassuring and _help_ him, because John always knew what to do. They’d all be dead in a ditch if it wasn’t for John.

 

 But...but John had to deal with the everyday stresses and anxieties they all dealt with while on tour, all while keeping track of the vast amounts of money that went through Queen’s accounts every day. He was under enough strain as it was, he didn’t need Roger dumping his insecurities on him as well. Not over something Roger knew he was blowing out of all proportion.

 

 And, also - what if he told John and it just brought attention to his new roundness and John didn’t...didn’t like it? What the hell was Roger going to do then!

 

 Maybe quitting smoking might help, it certainly couldn’t hurt. Or stop drinking so much. Maybe eat some more vegetables, Brian only ate them and he was as thin as anything. The point was that he could deal with this on his own. Roger was capable of self control. Even if, he thought as he watched John’s throat bob as he sipped his drink, he wasn’t always willing to do it.

 

“You not going for a dip?” John asked, Roger catching up his hand before John would rest it on top of the book laying on Roger’s stomach.

 

“I think I missed my chance,” Roger muttered as a flurry of squealing laughter went up.

 

“True, true,” John sighed as he leant his cheek on Rogers bent legs. “God forbid we carry on like that.”

 

“I’m sure if you had a word in Freddie’s ear he’d claim the pool for the Queens.”

 

 John seemed to think about it for a second, batting Roger's hand away when he flicked his ear. “What?”

 

“You shouldn't plot so close to a gig.”

 

 John smiled at him, giving Roger's knee a knock. “Another drink?”

 

 Roger considered the three vodka tonic's John had already thrown back and curled an arm around him. “No. Come sit with me.”

 

 John didn’t need to be persuaded, stretching his arms above his head as he flopped down into the space Roger made for him. “How far are you?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“In the book,” John asked, resting his head on Roger’s shoulder.

 

“Quarter way.”

 

“Okay,” he sighed and then promptly dozed off.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger paused with his hands on the buttons of the shirt he had just pulled on. He stared down at the swell of his bare stomach, ignoring the chatter going on around him as he took a deep breath that only accentuated the pull on the last button he had done up.

 

 He looked at himself in the mirror, and almost doubled over in relief when he saw it was John’s shirt he’d grabbed out of the wardrobe trunk. “Skinny little shit,” Roger muttered as he ripped it off and threw it at a chair.

 

 A peal of Freddie’s laughed echoed across the room and Roger found himself making a mocking sound in reply as he dragged through the rest of their shirts. He tried on a white one that was too sheer, a t-shirt that was too tight for him to stand right now, one that might have been Freddie’s once, and then a baggy tshirt with a big logo on that he just wasn’t in the mood for.

 

 Nothing was right. Nothing _would_ be right with how he was feeling right now.

 

 He shot a look across the dressing room at Freddie and John who were stood around the drinks table giggling about something that was even making Brian chuckle. They were all resplendent in the white outfits that Freddie had brainstormed to show off John's toned chest, the length of Brian's legs, and Freddie's athletic upper body to the baying crowd.

 

 Just perfect.

 

 Roger glared into the trunk, reaching in to grab a white and yellow shirt that he knew was his because he had always hated it. He tugged it on with a violence that would have drawn comment if anyone was paying attention, not even sparing a glance at himself in the mirror as he scrubbed a hand through his hair and picked up his sunglasses.

 

Might as well tie the whole fucking day up with a bow and look just as shitty as he felt.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Brian’s constant gentle humming was drowned out by the noise of the dressing room, the thunk of the door swinging closed behind him leaving Roger with just the sound of falling water.

 

 Despite his better judgement Roger leant back against the wall of the arena shower, trying to stretch out his back was starting to ache after gigs. His shoulder was sore as well, and even after being off stage for nearly ten minutes he could still feel a burn in his chest.

 

“Definitely giving up smoking,” he muttered to himself, tipping his head back to take a mouthful of cool water, swilling it around, and then spitting it out.

 

 Usually he was in and out of the showers pretty quickly. Not only because venue showers were rarely pleasant, but because he wanted to get the sweat of a gig off of him as quickly as possible so he could go and do more exciting things with all this adrenaline. Today, though, he lingered. Hiding away in the cold, dank cubicle because he wanted to be half naked in front of Brian as much as he wanted to see his stick thin body.

 

 Roger sighed loudly just to hear it echo around the tiled cubicle and then yawned. He scooped up two handfuls of water to shove through his hair, pushing himself upright to finally shuffled out of the shower.

 

 He was careful not to look at his reflection as he roughly towelled himself down, not even sparing himself a glance when he pulled on the clothes he had brought into the showers with him. It was maybe a bit pathetic, hiding away in the showers rather than face his friends and his employee's and John. But how was he supposed to strip off in that dressing room full of people when he could barely stand to look down at his own blotchy, exhausted body? 

 

“Glad you could join us, Roger dear,” Freddie called from the back of the dressing room when Roger slipped through the door, watching him make a beeline to where their jackets were hanging and shrug on the baggiest blazer he had thought to bring with him. “Nice and clean for this evening are we?”

 

 Roger didn’t miss the eye roll John sent Freddie’s way, and that was only reason he clocked the innuendo. “So squeaky you’ll hear me a mile off, Fred!” he shot back, which had John rolling his eyes back the other way.

 

 Freddie smiled around his cigarette as his _Gaydies in Waiting_ all sniggered amongst themselves. “You never really were one for a quick in and out, were you darling?”

 

 Even Brian laughed at that, his reflection grinning at Roger as he fluffed up his hair.

 

“We all know what you lot are talking about, by the way. It has been eight years,” Crystal drawled from where he was helping Phoebe pack up the wardrobe trunk.

 

“Now we can all talk about arses together!” Freddie announced, waving his hands in the air.

 

“As long as it’s not Roger’s or Deaky’s arse business,” Crystal said, cracking his back when he straightened.

 

“ _Arse business_ , bloody hell Crys,” John muttered.

 

“What! Roger was in there...”

 

“No he wasn’t,” John sighed. “You were just being a tart, weren’t you?” he said softly, casually touching Roger’s waist as he pecked him on the cheek.

 

 He wiggled away from John’s hand without even thinking, and immediately tensed. He glanced over at John, terrified to see hurt in his eyes, but he just looked a little startled. He dropped his hand, flexing it at his side as he give Roger a long, level look. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Been feeling a bit off since I woke up,” he admitted, which was enough of a truth for John not to press him.

 

 His expression softened, reaching up to brush a few strands of Roger’s hair back in to place. “Let’s see if we can end the day better than it started,” he murmured, squeezing Roger’s wrist. “And if not? Well, tomorrow’s another day, isn’t it? We can try and improve on that one.”

 

 Trust John to say, with such simplicity, just what Roger didn’t even know he needed to hear.

 

 Today was a crap. The day before hadn’t been great either, and the one before that had been long and boring. Tomorrow might be even worse, or, Roger thought as he tangled his fingers with John’s, it might just be a bit better. “Yeah. Yeah it’ll sort itself out,” he agreed, giving John a quick kiss and flipping Brian off when he wolf whistled.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“No, no, no, no. Don’t try and talk yourself out of that one. We all saw you disappearing off with them and Bri!” Roger yelled down the table at Crystal as he patted himself down for his matches.

 

“I only took one girl back!”

 

“Bollocks!”

 

“Five can’t play scrabble,” Brian declared, the restaurant owner looking a little alarmed at the raucous laughter that caused.

 

 Roger sat back in his seat, laughing around the cigarette in his mouth as he struck a match. That was as far as he got in lighting it, his eyes landing on his plate of hardly touched, delicious looking, seafood that was set beside the ashtray that was mostly full of his cigarette butts.

 

 He glanced around, and then finally lit the cigarette, handing it off to their tour manager in what he hoped was a smooth move.

 

 The gesture got him a smack on the back and he shot Gary a tight lipped smile, turning back to his plate and making himself pick up his fork.

 

 Not eating was an idiot thing to do. He knew better than that. They had all known what it was like to nearly starve back in the early days of the band. He was a biologist! And here he was trying to smoke himself sick rather than eating.

 

 The first few mouthfuls just tasted of cigarettes, so he downed some water and swilled a gulp of wine around his mouth before diving in.

 

 All that smoking had made him feel a little light headed so it was slow going, but he wasn’t going to let himself be put off. He had just played his heart out for an hour and a half after picking at his food all day. Shows were not going to be cancelled all because he made himself _faint_.

 

 Roger distracted himself by partaking in the seemingly endless supply of wine and throwing himself into the conversations going on around the table. He in the middle of laughing at a story Phoebe was drunkenly telling when John plucked a prawn off his plate. He was about to protest that he was saving those for last but, and this may have been the excellent Sauvignon Blanc talking, he found himself horribly distracted by John’s hands.

 

 It was objectively not attractive, peeling a prawn, but John’s fingers were careful and went about their tasks with such delicacy. He was talking while he did it, not even paying attention, and that made the whole thing all the more weirdly attractive. And then he licked some garlic butter from his fingers and that was it.

 

 Roger may be full of nicotine and wine and insecurity, but where he wanted that mouth and those fingers to be was as alert as ever.

 

John glanced at him as he dropped the head of the shell back onto Roger’s plate, pausing when he caught his eye. For some reason he looked surprised by what he saw on Roger’s face, and then he shot him a grin as sucked the last drop of butter from his thumb.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“ _Ah,”_ Roger gasped, letting his head thunk back into the wall. John didn’t try to chase his mouth, instead yanking Roger’s tie off so he could kiss down his neck to the dip at the base of Roger’s throat.

 

 He untangled his hands from John’s hair to press into his lower back, pulling John against him as he sagged back against the wall. He ducked his head to nuzzle at John's temple, encouraging him to turn his face so Roger could taste the smile on his lips.

 

 They traded slow, opened mouth kisses as Roger, true to form, grabbed at John's arse, pulling away to bump noses when John grinned into his mouth.

 

“Still not bored of it?”

 

“Never. _God._ ”

 

 John laughed when Roger squeezed his bum to prove his point, a smile still bright in his eyes when he slipped a hand over Roger’s hip press his palm against Roger's cock.

 

 “I’m not bored of this either,” John grinned as he tugged Roger’s pants and trousers half way down his legs and started on Roger’s baggy shirt.

 

 Roger groaned at the feeling of John's lips trailing down his chest, enjoying the feeling of his body under the skin warm cotton of his shirt as he let John slide through his hands. He spread his fingers wide over John's back when he dropped into an awkward half kneeling position in front of him, grabbing handfuls of his shirt when he realised John was taking his time kissing over Roger’s middle.

 

 John wasn’t an idiot, he must have an idea what was going on with Roger. There was no way he wouldn’t have clocked Roger jerking away from the hand on his waist and put everything together. He watched John, looking for something like pity or resignation on his face but there wasn’t any. It was just John trying to make him feel good.

 

 It was probably because he was a bit drunk, and tired in that way you got on tour, all mixed in with how low he had been feeling all day, but Roger he was a little horrified to feel a lump of emotion in his throat. He tried to swallow it down because he _wasn’t,_ at the age of thirty-five, _going to start getting weepy while being sucked off._ The lump didn’t budge and he tried to shift it with a cough, the second one coming out strangled in that awful way that made it clear that you were getting choked up.

 

 John looked up at him, and whatever he saw on Roger’s face had him getting to his feet at once. “Roger?” His eyes were wide and earnest, a look of genuine alarm on his face, and Roger couldn’t deal with that right now.

 

“I...I...I just need…” he took a deep breath, dragged up his trousers, and fled into the unused bedroom of their suite.

 

“Roger!” John yelled, an edge of exasperation to his voice which was absolutely called for.

 

 Some people have real problems, Roger told himself. He had everything anyone could want, and he was being stupid. Stupid for feeling this way, stupid for letting it get to him like this, and stupid for running from John.

 

“Roger?” John’s gentle, concerned voice came through door. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m…” Roger started, and had to swallow down a sudden well of emotion. “I need a moment, Deaks. You didn't do anything. I need…”

 

“Okay,” John said gently. “It’s okay. If you need a moment that’s fine, Roge. But you are alright, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Roger shuddered out a reply. “Yeah I’m...I won’t do anything stupid.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I promise,”

 

“I know.”

 

“Nothing more stupid than running away from you…”

 

“ _Roger_ that’s - if you need space, you need space, you know. It’s fine Roge. As long as you’re not…” John sighed. “When you want to - _if_ you want to - come...come and talk to me? Even if I’ve fallen asleep, wake me up and talk to me.”

 

Roger took a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay.”

 

“I want you to.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And if you don’t want to talk to me you _know_ Freddie is always there for you.”

 

“I know. I do...It’s not about you. It’s...I will.”

 

“That’s fine. It’s fine. I…” John started awkwardly, and then didn’t seem to know what to say. “I’m going be in the bedroom, okay Roge?”

 

“Deaky?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” John said like he knew Roger needed to hear that, and it all became a bit too much.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger sniffed loudly as he ran the tap, scratching the back of his leg with his foot as he shot himself a reproachful look in the mirror. His eyes were red and skin blotchy, so Roger splashed cold water on his face to try and make it less obvious that he had been crying.

 

 Not that John wouldn’t know. Even if he hadn’t been able to hear him through the thin hotel room walls he’d know. Just like Roger knew when John had been upset and was trying to hide it. It was one of the perks and downsides of being so close to someone.

 

 Roger gripped the sides of the sink as he watched the water swirl down the plug hole. He couldn’t deny that he felt a little better after letting his emotions get the better of him. Cathartic Release was something Brian was always going on about, and Roger had assumed (and had loudly accused him of) making up fancy innuendo for getting off. He thought he got it now, even though he’d never tell Brian that.

 

 He was still a little frayed around the edges, and his midsection was not his friend right now, but nothing felt quite so overwhelming as before.

 

 Stars burst behind his eyelids when he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, and he blinked them away when he looked at his reflection. He poked at his weird little button nose and made his wide eyes bug, straightening so he could flex his arms in the mirror.

 

 No matter what, his drummer’s muscles would never let him down.

 

 With a sigh Roger wiped his hands on his shirt and went to turn the bathroom light off. Without the whirr of the extractor fan he could hear the faint racket that rock bands always made in hotels, and he took comfort in that. The world was still turning and rock was still rolling even when he wasn’t feeling very rock and roll right now. All he wanted to do was go to bed and wake up tomorrow with this all behind him, but when had ignoring something ever not come around to bite you in the arse later?

 

 Sometimes the only way forward, as his mum liked to say, was through.

 

 Roger felt his way over to the bedroom, poking his head around the slightly ajar door. John was curled up on top of the covers, Roger’s book next to him like he had fallen asleep reading it by lamplight. He pushed the door open slowly so he didn’t startle John awake, and then, ever the sap, watched him for a moment. Partly to put off _talking_ , and partly because he really did bloody love him.

 

 He ended up standing there long enough for his presence to wake John up. Roger could just see the sleepy confusion on his face as he rolled over, his sudden intake of breath quickly released in a relieved sigh when he realised the figure in the doorway was Roger.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, plonking himself in the middle of the bed as John sat up.

 

“At least you didn’t jump on me,” John yawned, the bed shifting as he scooted closer sit behind Roger. “How are you doing?”

 

“Bit better. Had a cry, kicked over an empty bin. The usual rock and roll stuff.”

 

 He heard the huff of breath as John chuckled, and it made Roger feel a little better. “Do you want to rant about it, or just go to bed?”

 

 Roger rolled his head back to look at the ceiling with a groan. “I’d love a drink. But I think that bottle of wine at dinner didn’t help with...earlier.”

 

“All right,” John said softly, his hand pressing against Roger’s arm for a second before pulling it back.

 

“So. I know you’ve probably half guessed it or whatever,” Roger ran his hands down the seams of his jeans, and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t...I’m not old, I know that. But I’m getting older, and I’ve lived a pretty wild life. And you know how I’m built to kept my fat stores up against the winter,” he joked a little flatly. “I don’t know how I feel about...it’s not even a middle aged spread, it’s just fags and booze and genetics catching up with me! And I feel...I’m self-conscious about it. I suppose. You’ve gotten all toned and are still skinny as anything, and my little tummy isn’t quite so little,” he kicked out his legs with a huff. “I didn’t want to really look at myself today, or be looked at.”

 

“Did I make you uncomfortable when I was...”

 

“No. Fuck, I was ready for you to suck my dick. Don’t worry,” Roger threw a smile over his shoulder at John. “No, you were being great. I was…” he waved his hand around in a way he trusted would get his meaning across, “... and you were treating this thing that I had been so conscious of all day like it wasn’t a thing and I was a bit tipsy and emotional about the whole thing so,” he threw both hands up and let them drop into his lap. “Summary of Roger Taylor’s melt down; felt unattractive, you were being sexy despite th....”

 

“There’s no despite anything,” John said, voice as gentle as the hand he ran over Roger’s back.

 

“If you’re going to tell me that you haven’t noticed a difference, then I’m going to tell you right now _that_ is not going to go down well.”

 

 John moved closer, crossed legs bumping against Roger’s back as he stroked his biceps. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, resting his chin on Roger’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re any less sexy than you’ve ever been. You are beautiful. The most...the most beautiful person I have ever seen, you know. That softness you’ve always had about you has always been a part of that. And not being twenty-five anymore isn’t going to change that. You were sexy back then, and you’re still sexy now.”

 

“Yeah?” Roger asked, pulling John’s arms around him.

 

“Of course,” John said simply, uncrossing his legs so they could bracket Roger’s. “In twenty years we’ll all be chubby old men, are you going to finally turn your nose up at me when I’m old and bald?”

 

“Never!” Roger said sharply, thinking of John’s bright smile and how age could never diminish that.

 

“See. Not even a moment’s hesitation!” John dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “I know that when you’re hard on yourself it’s because you expect the best, but you don’t have to do that with me. I think you’re sexy any which way, but I like you best when you’re happy. In whatever way that looks.”

 

“I knew you’d speak sense.” Roger muttered as he leant back against John’s chest. ”You’re too good to me.”

 

“I just try to be what you deserve.” John said quietly, and Roger felt so much warmth bubble up inside of him that he could have yelled.

 

“Do I make you happy?” Roger asked, twisting to look at John.

 

“Very.”

 

“Then I’m happy.”

 

 

* ***** *

 

 They were up and out relatively early the next morning, and Roger took great pleasure in stomping up the steps of the tour bus to the sound of everyone’s hungover groans.

 

“Morning everyone!” he called, sharing a grin with their driver when he was yelled at to shut up. He took pity and stepped a little more carefully as he made his way to the back of the bus, flopping down next to Freddie who had some quite fabulous beard burn on his collarbone. “Good night Fred?”

 

“Mmm,” he hummed as he peered over the top of his sunglasses at Roger. “You look horribly bright eyed this morning, dear.”

 

“It’s a nice day,” Roger said as he leant over to light his cigarette from Freddie’s.

 

“Those are Deaky’s,” Freddie pointed out, tapping the purple box of Silk Cut.

 

“Yeah. I’m trying to cut back a bit, the old lungs finally rebelling against the Red’s,” Roger waggled his eyebrows as he took a drag. “Need to keep fit if I’m shagging a younger man.”

 

“Oh, so that’s why you’re glowing today. Did Deaky _blow_ your mind, dear?”

 

“Something like that,” Roger said, going along with it because he’d have been called a bullshiter for saying the good night’s sleep he’d had curled up against John’s chest was to blame for his good mood.

 

“He’s only two years younger than you,” Brian said from beneath the magazine he was using to block out the sun. “Stop making it weird.”

 

“Awwww, someone grumpy ‘cause their mind wasn’t blown last night?”

 

 Brian shot them a look from under the magazine and they both burst out laughing.

 

“What’s the joke?” John asked as dumped the official Queen on Tour accounts briefcase on the floor, collapsing down next to Freddie just as the bus pulled away.

 

“Our sex lives.”

 

“Oh, the usual then,” John huffed. He peered across Freddie at Brian’s prone form, and then smiled at Roger. “I like this,” he said, reaching over to pluck at Roger’s jumper. “Makes your shoulders look good.”

 

“Oh. Thank you.”

 

“Yes dear. Brings out those arms of yours, and the colour makes you sparkle!” Freddie smiled, and then turned to stage whisper to John. “It almost makes him look big and butch doesn’t it!”

 

“He is the man of the band,” John said sagely, grinning when Brian made a noise of protest, paused for thought, and then hummed in agreement.

 

 The first few hours of the drive to Germany were spent in a reflective silence as everyone regretted hangovers and revelled in what good bit’s they could remember from last night. Roger shoved Brian off the bench seat so he could get the best light to read by, the late summer sun beating through the window getting so warm that Roger had to drag his jumper off (against his will, _John though he looked good in it_ ), letting his hair fall as it pleased.

 

“Oh Christ,” Crystal grumbled a while later, shuffling past with a cup of coffee Roger could smell from where he was sat. “No-one’s taking bloody photos.”

 

“What?”

 

“You look like someone’s gonna snap you for a magazine cover. How dare you look like that at...eleven-twenty-eight in the morning!”

 

“You think I look good Crys?” Roger gasped dramatically.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“You do care! After all these years…!”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“ _Aww Crys_.”

 

“This is why I like Deaky better than you.”

 

“I like Deaky more than me too.”

 

“Don't sit there photo ready and be self deprecating,” Crystal grumbled, sidestepping to let John pass. “Sort him out will you?”

 

“What? With _arse business_?” John teased cooly, much to Phoebe's delight.

 

“You still like Deaky more than me?”

 

“Sadly, yes,” Crystal muttered into his coffee, walking off to leave them to their nonsense.

 

“You’ll be pleased to hear,” John said as he sat next to Roger. “That I like you best too.”

 

“Should think so!” Roger said, watching John stretch. “Got all those Italian receipts sorted out?”

 

“Yeah,” John huffed as he pitched sideways into Roger. “I think we cleared out all the Grappa in Milan."  

 

 They made the best use of what space where was on the narrow tour bus seats to get comfortable. Roger wiggled under John’s arm so he could curl up with his head against his chest, resting an elbow on John’s crossed legs until he made him move it. John’s free hand was resting on Roger’s ribs, fingertips sweeping idly over his side as he flicked through Freddie’s copy of _Architect’s Digest._ He’d made another passing comment about how nice Roger looked (while calling Roger’s shirt disgusting, which was a bit rich coming from him), and although Roger was pleased to hear it that nasty, creeping, self-conscious doubt was creeping up on him again.

 

 They were practically married so of course John was going to flatter him. Pile on the compliments to get Roger to stop sulking like he had been all yesterday. None of this was genuine, he was just being _nice_ to poor pathetic Roger who was turning into the sad, fat, middle-aged man that John was going to be lumped with.

 

 Roger turned from the page he was staring at blankly to look at John's face. He looked for any trace of deception or toleration, but all he saw was that familiar contentment to just be in Roger's company.

 

 Roger swallowed hard, not finding much difference when he thought back to how John had been before and after Roger’s... _moment._ He thought about how Freddie had complimented him too - which was nothing out of the ordinary, Freddie showered praise on everyone - but so had Crystal, and he was never nice to Roger if he could help it.

 

 John wasn’t about to rope everyone in to make Roger feel better, that was too far fetched. And complicated. And silly. Especially after all the sincere and honest things John had whispered to Roger in the middle of the night. Things that had helped Roger wake up in such a better place that Freddie had spotted it the moment he had set eyes on him. And here was that ever uncertain part of Roger trying to sabotage it all.

 

 The Scrabble board being unfurled with great ceremony broke Roger out of his ponderings. They were summoned to where Freddie was sat, and, as seating was at a premium, Roger took the great sacrifice of having John sit in his lap. The things he did for those he loved!

 

 Roger’s smooth smile and arched eyebrow as he pulled John down was studiously ignored, as was his attempt to get him to blow on his tiles. He still got his good luck kiss though, and John absentmindedly stroking his fingers through the back of Roger’s hair whenever he was considering the board. Roger had to try and keep down a shiver whenever he did that, and judging by the look Brian kept giving him he wasn't that successful.

 

 It distracted him enough that it took Roger a little while to realise that John’s hip was pressing into his stomach more than usual. He waited for all the worst feelings from yesterday to well up in him again, but instead found that he didn't care all that much. He wasn’t a fan of it, especially when he took a deep breath and John's hip really dug in, but he wasn’t that bothered either.

 

 He had more important things to think about right now, like kicking everyone’s arse at Death Scrabble.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger was usually up early before soundcheck. He liked to stretch properly and have a good breakfast while flipping through the English newspapers and local music magazines. Today though, he had crawled right back into bed after using in the bathroom. Death Scrabble had ended rather late last night (he had, after a tie breaking decision from Gary, won), and John had looked so cozy swathed in the blankets that Roger thought he had a good excuse to have a lazy morning.

 

 He had been dozing for a while, half aware of John getting up and the shower running, becoming more awake when he slipped back under the covers. Roger moved closer as soon as John was settled, pressing his nose to his arm to breathe in the fresh, shower warm scent of his skin.

 

“Mmmmorn’,” Roger hummed as he groped John’s bare thigh, replacing his nose with his lips to kiss the smooth curve of John’s shoulder.

 

 He rolled easily onto his back when John gave his hip a gentle push. Roger kicked the blankets away as he half propped himself up against the headboard, not really minding that his feet were still caught in them when John straddled his thighs.

 

 John ducked down as if to kiss Roger, pausing just before their lips touched when Roger squeezed his thighs. Roger grunted in protest, tipping his chin up to try and get John to kiss him but he just smiled, slowly rolling his hips so his stomach rubbed against Roger’s cock.

 

“ _Git,”_ Roger muttered, curling his hand around the back of John’s neck to drag him down the last quarter of an inch. He didn’t need to hold John in place as he kissed him thoroughly but did it anyway, nipping at John’s bottom lip with every hard press of his hips.

 

 John planted his hand on Roger’s chest, breathing heavily into his mouth as he shifted forward just enough for Roger's cock to press against his arse. He dragged himself out of the kiss with a moan that echoed Roger’s, biting at his gently bruised bottom lip when he pushed himself to sit up.

 

 Roger became distracted by how John looked in the dim morning light struggling to get through the curtains. It caught the softness of his skin and the flow of muscle moving under it, lighting up the shadow of his lashes against his cheek. It took Roger a moment to realise that he had missed what John had been saying, a tiny embarrassed smile tugging at his mouth when John shook his head and ducked down to kiss him.

 

“What do you think I was doing in the shower?” John grinned as his fingertip pressed against Rogers nipple.

 

“Getting nice and clean so you can come up here and let me eat you out,” Roger said with a smooth arch of his eyebrow, giving John’s hip an encouraging tug.

 

 He stopped when John let out an, “Oh”, that wasn’t the desperately turned on kind. “I was going to ride you.”

 

“Well I won’t say no to that, either.”

 

“No. If you wanted I could…”

 

“No, no. I can always get in there after.”

 

 John’s gently flushed cheeks went even darker. He looked over to the bed side table for the lube, and then shot Roger another look that made him laugh.

 

 Roger planted his feet flat on the bed when John reached behind himself to lube Roger’s cock up. When John sat up on his knees Roger grasped his hips, supporting him as John slowly lowered himself onto Roger’s cock with a sigh.

 

“Oh _yeah,_ ” Roger grunted, thumbs pressing into the crease of John’s hip when he raised up and dropped back down onto Roger’s cock. “Oh shit.”

 

“Yeah?” John was already breathless, tilting his hips to take more of Roger. “Do I feel good?”

 

“You know you do.”

 

“Good. ‘Cause you’re filling me up just right.” John said, a smile bright in voice, and tipped his head back to let out a breathless laugh that became an equally breathless moan when he got all of Roger inside of him.

 

“Fuck,” was what Roger had to say about that, and they both laughed.

 

 John steadied himself with a hand on Roger’s bent knee while he circled his hips, his breath catching in his throat when he got that angle just right. Roger knew what that felt like now, knew how oddly all encompassing it was, and his toes curled in the sheets to know John was taking that from him.

 

 Roger ran his hand up John’s side to feel the roll of his body, skimming over his shoulders and tugging at his chest hair to make him swear. He didn’t know where he wanted to touch him most, his undulating hips or his heaving rib cage or the smooth line of his back, so he touched him all over. Paying special attention to the muscle in his thighs that was tensing with every roll of his hips.

 

 John let out a harsh, shuddering breath and pressed a hand against Roger’s stomach to change the angle of his hips. The headboard rattled gently against the wall to the soft rhythm of John’s hips, their quiet pants and gasps easily drowning it out. Roger tipped his head back with a groan, watching through hooded eyes as John rode him with the long, liquid slow movements of really good morning sex.

 

 It was everything. Roger didn’t have anything else on his mind other than the feeling and the sight and the sound of John. Even before he had realised what that tug in his chest meant Roger had always liked watching John enjoy what they did together. He found himself doing it now, resting his hand over John’s that lay on his belly in what he knew was a sentimental gesture. John looked at him, eyes a flash of colour beneath his lashes, and smiled at him like he got it

 

 Which would have been a sweet moment if John hadn’t been grinding his arse down hard on Roger’s cock, but what could you do?

 

 Roger started to rock his hips up into the roll of John’s - lazy little movements that felt like they were more than they were. John moaned high in this throat when Roger grabbed his hips to guide him back onto his cock, both hands pressing into Roger’s middle to steady himself.

 

 John bowed his back as they both fell into a harder rhythm, fingers digging into Roger’s stomach as his leaking cock rubbed against it. Even if he’d had the wherewithal to notice when John was doing, Roger wouldn't have given a shit. Not when John was letting out little punched out gasps as he took his building, rising pleasure from Roger’s body. A body that might not look like it once did, but John was still fucking loving it.

 

 Loving it so much that their perfect counterpoint rhythm fell to pieces, John chasing an orgasm that had him coming all over Roger’s chest. He tried to carrying on riding Roger, but his legs were trembling like they always did when he was fucked right and he couldn't quite manage it. Instead John grabbed onto the headboard to brace himself, letting Roger hold his hips and fuck up into him until he shot his own load inside of John.

 

 They laid flopped out on the sheets after kisses and soft words, letting the sweat and, in Roger’s case, John’s cum cool on their skin. He ran his hand through the mess as he blinked up at the ceiling, peering at it clinging to his fingers before turning to look at John.

 

 He was rumpled and sweaty and flushed, eyes half closed as he caught his breath. He looked like he did after every time they’d had a particularly good shag, and Roger felt a familiar stirring when he let his eyes trail over him.

 

“Deaky?”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“You know I said I wanted you to get up on my face?”

 

“We have soundcheck," he muttered, whacking Roger on the arm. "And you’ve just cum. In my arse.”

 

“Well...If you let me rim you I can help with clearing that up? For soundcheck?”

 

 John burst out into helpless laughter, one look at Roger setting him off giggling as well.

 

 Roger kissed over John's lower back when when he finally settled between his legs. He slipped his fingers between John’s cheeks to rub his own cum over his hole, kissing the back of his leg at the muffled groan John pressed into the pillow. He trailed his lips over the curve of his backside, holding Jon’s cheeks apart as he ran the flat of his tongue from John’s balls to the base of his spine. He moaned, kicking his feet in the air and letting out a desperate, gasping whine when Roger noisily slurped up the taste of lube and cum from his slick, lose hole.

 

 They were going to be so, _so_ late to soundcheck, and, as John cried out at something particularly filthy Roger did with his tongue, he found he couldn’t give a single fuck.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“Good morning degenerates!” Roger yelled as he dropped onto his drum stool. He announced his arrival with a thunderous roll on his Tom Toms, shooting Freddie and Brian a grin that was mostly teeth as John stepped quietly onto the stage.

 

 John had managed to almost look like he hadn’t started the day off with two fantastic shags. Roger, on the other hand, was rolling with it. He flicked his sunglasses down over his eyes, spun his drumsticks through his fingers, and accepted the shit he was about to get with open arms.

 

“Nice of you to join us. Getting a deep tissue warm up, were you?”

 

“Aaay Roge! Get in there mate!”

 

“We’ve got plenty of sticks. You don’t have to play with Deaky’s.”

 

“As long as they don’t fuck it backstage again…”

 

“Ah, leave them alone. Deaky was just showing him how deep he can take that bass.”

 

 With a sharp clap of his hands Freddie got everyone’s attention back to the task at hand. “Right, darlings. Save it for later. We’ve already got behind,” he shot a wink at John as he bumped their hips together. “But isn’t that always the way in Munich, dear.”

 

The _Olympiahalle_ slowly filled with staff and promoters and _people_ as they bickered and fiddled though the sound check. Everyone always came out of the woodwork when big, popular bands were playing, turning up to mill around and get in the way just so they could say they were backstage when _Queen_ played. Crystal kept them all away from the band (he could be very useful when he felt like it) but that meant he wasn’t there for Roger to yell at about turning up the tiny aircon that circulated the air around the riser so Roger didn’t sweat to death during gigs.

 

 With a huff Roger stuck his sticks between his teeth and half undid his shirt to try and cool down a little. Then, as it seemed Brian was in deep communion with his back up guitar, he took to opportunity to stand and stretch out his upper back; clamping one arm across his chest and then the other, before rolling his shoulders.

 

 John was loitering on the drum riser, as usual, and when Roger spared him a glance he found he was already looking him. Not with desire or amusement or boredom, he just had open and honest appreciation on his face. As if he liked to look at Roger in the same way people liked to look at… oceans or sunsets and shit like that.

 

 It was the same way John had looked at him hundreds times before, and yet Roger still had to sit down heavily when he felt his face flush. He shot John another look when he thought no-one was looking and started blushing harder when he found John smiling at him softly.

 

“Stop!”

 

“What?”

 

“You know what!” Roger hissed as he pointed at his face. “Blushing isn’t very rock n roll drummer is it!”

 

 John laughed, resting his knee on Roger’s bass drum so he could say to him quietly. “Will you feel more rock and roll if I tell you I was looking at you and thinking about where that filthy mouth of yours was not an hour ago?”

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

“Well tough. I was looking at you because you’ve got your shirt undone and you’re gorgeous.”

 

 Even though Roger couldn’t keep the helpless smile off his face he still stuck his tongue out at John as a matter of principle, shaking his drumsticks at him when John hopped off the riser with a laugh.  

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: there is one implication of not eating properly due to body image. I didn't tag it as I wasn't sure how to, but I don't want anyone triggered. It occurs during the restaurant scene.
> 
>  
> 
> Ahem... **ROGER'S CHONK IS VALID**. Love that Dad's dad bod. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
> 
> No matter what you look like, as long as you are happy and kind, you are beautiful. Fuck everybody else. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Maybe...maybe next. I will...do....fem!joger? Lesbiabs? *flips hair* *skateboards away*


End file.
